


Semblance

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 14 Inspired [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda to 14x03, Comforting Castiel, Dean Cave, Dean's not used to change, M/M, Proud Castiel, Scared Dean Winchester, Stressed Dean Winchester, Sweet Castiel, Sweet Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Time as a presence, farms, hand holding, normal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: After the events of 14x03, Dean returns to the Bunker emotionally charged up and surrounded on all sides by a bunch of people he doesn't really know. Is there anything or anyone like how he remembers before Michael wore him like a cheap suit? Or is there no normal he can return to?





	Semblance

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this episode didn't have enough Dean/Cas moments. Thankfully fanfiction exists!

            Dean knew he’d been gone for a long time – doesn’t mean he wanted reminders. Like Sam’s beard, all the changes within the Bunker made it obvious he was falling behind even before he realized there was a race. Every confused blink when someone called Sam ‘chief’ or accidental bump after rounding a corner without looking made him even more aware how _different_ things have become.

            How different his _home_ is.

            Even now, sitting in his room, he tries to ignore the fact he now has _neighbors_. “Where was I gonna put them, Dean?” Sam said, after they had watched a guy in a towel pass them by to open the door left of Dean’s room, “The Bunker is more storage space than living quarters. You can’t have your own hallway.”

            ‘ _I damn well **should** get my own hallway_ ,’ Dean thinks, glaring at his wall, ‘ _Seniority or… whatever._ ’ He sighs, letting the tension sag out of his shoulders, and drags a tired hand down his face. His mind steamed on ahead, even after promising Sam he’d try to slow down. Except without any thread to latch onto about Michael, or how to _stop_ Michael, or even how to _find_ Michael… he flails in the ether of the unknown.

            Almost like he’s… he’s drowning –

            “Yeah,” he murmurs, shooting up, “Not going down that rabbit hole.” Instead of locking himself away, he decides stretching his legs might clear his head.

            Or give him something else to think about.

            Although that seems to be easier said than done. He’d been stewing in his room longer than he intended, still awake in the twilight hours. Barely anyone was around – and while walking the halls was much easier, it didn’t help his nerves. His bad thoughts seemed to echo in the empty space, haunting him with every step.

            Thankfully, a familiar whir from nearby cut across his inner turmoil. Dean picks up his pace, somewhat sprinting into the kitchen. He leans against the doorjamb, huffing under his breath, trying to look at ease. Cas isn’t easily fooled.

            The angel takes a sip from his now-filled mug before approaching Dean. “So,” he starts, “Should I even pretend I didn’t see that or do you want to skip the lie and just tell me what’s on your mind?”

            Dean sags. “Wanted to talk, s’all,” he mumbles out, trying and failing to meet Cas’s gaze.

            “You’re lucky it was me who you found, then,” Cas says, smiling, “Anyone else wouldn’t let your little… _half-jog_ go so easily.”

            “Yeah,” Dean sighs, offering a somewhat smaller grin, “Used to be I had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing who was in the other room… but now…” His thoughts circle back on themselves now, pressing on his mind. “How do you do it?”

            “Do what?”

            “That,” he gestures to the mug. “Make yourself coffee… talk – talk like there aren’t forty other strangers who can walk in on you at any moment.”

            “Because they aren’t strangers to _me_ ,” Castiel tells him, “These other hunters… they’re my friends. We’ve fought together, broke bread… I’m sure in time you’ll feel the same –“

            “Time,” Dean chuckles, his features darkening, “Seems like that’s one of the things I don’t have a grasp on, right now.” He turns from his friend, rubbing at the scar Michael left behind. Even under the thick flannel, he can feel where the flesh has raised and puckered. It must have hurt Michael fiercely when Kaia stabbed him – although with his powers, the wound barely lasted five minutes. Or maybe it did, and healed normally like any wound (‘ _That would have irked him_.’) Who knows how long Michael let him bleed. Not him.

            Cas lays a hand on his other shoulder. “Hey, why don’t we have a seat?”

            “I don’t think five feet is gonna make a difference, Cas.”

            “No… I was thinking somewhere else.” 

* * *

 

            Dean steps past Cas, moving further into the room. He eyes it adoringly, taking in the glory of his Dean Cave. He trails a finger along a nearby table, softening at the dust coating it. “I’m surprised no one’s touched it,” he says, “Figured Sam would make this into a rec room seeing as the Bunker’s now a community center.”

            “We had an agreement,” Cas says, shutting the door behind them, “Your room and this… it wouldn’t feel right while you were – you were _away_. We made sure to keep others from using it without your permission.”

            “Thanks,” Dean tells him, “You didn’t – I mean, not like I’m going to stop _everyone_ from coming in here –“

            “Dean, it’s okay,” Cas soothes. “It’s understandable you want space. Need to be surrounded by something that… that’s _familiar_. We’re not asking you to adapt like…” he snaps his fingers, “like _that_.”

            He huffs, walking over towards the chairs and slumping into one. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

            “I’m not sure what you mean?”

            “Yes you do,” Dean calls him out, “Don’t pretend like you don’t it’s… it’s insulting. You ‘n’ Sammy… hell, even that other Kaia could tell and I barely said more than five words to her.” He hears Cas glide over, watching over his shoulder, waiting to see if he’s needed. “I’m _struggling_ ,” he whispers, “Everywhere I go I… it’s like I don’t know anything. And everything that I did know is – is gone. Changed. I woke up from a coma and my world’s moved on without me. Even _Sammy_ has his little support system to fall back on… I’m not needed.”

            He slips back into silence, hunched over and counting each breath that hisses out his nose. Cas says nothing as well, preferring to slowly slink past him and into the next chair.

            “You know,” Cas starts, “Jack saved that girl who was brought here.”

            “What?”

            “You remember, the one with the witch’s curse on her?” he gestures to an invisible necklace, “Withering away? We exhausted every option but Jack didn’t give up. He still believed she could be saved, even when it looked like there was no life left in her. Now she’s probably back at home with her mother, thankful she can see the sun rise another day…”

            “That’s… that’s great,” Dean says, frowning, “And Jack did that without…” he wiggles his fingers, “without his mojo?”

            “Yes,” he laughs, smiling at the memory, “He was so proud of himself and… and so was I. Jack never gave up, and proved that he could still make a difference even without his powers.”

            “Yeah,” Dean sighs, “I’m – I’m sorry about what I said, earlier. I didn’t mean – I wasn’t thinking…”

            “You weren’t,” Cas agrees, “Nor were you aware of his feelings about his new status. But now you know.”

            “Boy do I,” Dean says, “Sam ripped me a new one after that – next time I see the kid I’m gonna share a beer with him, make up and all that.”

            “That’d make him happy.”

            “So…” Dean continues, “not that it’s weird talking about Jack’s accomplishments but… I feel like you had some sort of ulterior motive about it.”

            “Well I figured you should know seeing as you’re one-third of Jack’s dads,” Cas says, hiding a smirk at the way Dean’s eyes widen at that. “However… you’re right, I did have a hidden intention. Dean… Jack losing his grace unbalanced him. He felt like he couldn’t provide in the same way that he did, that he wasn’t _needed_. But his actions prove otherwise. He’s _learning_ , just like we all are. Like _you_ are. It might take awhile but you’ll get to the point where you can be comfortable in your skin again.”

            Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thanks Cas,” he ekes out, “…thanks.” He waits a beat. “It might take awhile. I don’t know –“

            “It doesn’t matter,” Cas stops him with a hand over his. “We’ll walk alongside you for however long you need us.”

            He’s not crying. He wishes he _could_ cry, but his eyes remain dry. All the water stays in his chest, and he coughs, trying to undam the reservoir there. Cas moves to help him, but Dean squeezes his hand, stalling the movement.

            “I just wanna return to normal,” Dean confesses, “it’s all gotten so… so _big_.”

            “We can’t go back,” Cas tells him, “We can only move forward. Try and find a-a _new_ normal. Or at least… a semblance of it.”

            “Not just this fight,” Dean continues, turning away from Cas, hands still clasped together. “The bunker… sharing a kitchen, a bathroom, a-a hallway with all these people. I’ve never been a… _joiner_.” He offers a wry smirk. “Maybe my new normal’ll be a farm somewhere. Forty is eighty in hunter years… don’t know how Ma or Bobby do it…”

            “A farm seems like a nice idea,” Cas nods, “Open fields, dirt roads… only seeing people when you want to see them.”

            “ _We_.”

            “Hmm?”

            “We, stupid,” Dean laughs, “A farm’s a big responsibility. Needs more than one person to run it. Sam’s too busy _chief-ing_ things here and…”

            “And?”

            “I’d miss you too much.”

            Dean warms at the sight of Cas’s smile. “I’d miss you, too.” Cas sighs. “I… have another confession to make.” Dean raises a brow at him, waiting. “Earlier, when I said we made sure no one used your rooms. Well… that was a falsity.”

            “That so?”

            “Yes, I –“ Cas stutters, blushing, “I may have… on some occasions… _sat_ in your room.”

            Dean snorts. “I kinda figured.”

            “You did?”

            “Everything looked too orderly,” Dean says, “Not dusty like in here. That someone was taking care of it, keeping it clean.” He looks at the angel from the corner of his eye. “Thanks.”

            They lapse back into silence, Dean stroking a thumb across Cas’s hand tenderly. He lets time pass without protest, preferring its journey with company. Dean uses the quiet to picture years down the road. Waking up beside Cas at the crow of the rooster, trying to weasel in a few extra minutes of sleep knowing the angel wouldn’t let him. Cooking breakfast from the eggs he picked yesterday from their coop. Watching Cas tend to a garden from a nearby porch swing, coffee in hand, the ceramic clinking gently against a simple, silver band.

            “Hey Cas?”

            “Yes Dean.”

            “Thanks for not changing too much,” Dean smiles, “For being my eye in the storm.”

            “You don’t have to thank me for that Dean,” Cas says, “I’m glad to be _your_ _normal_.”

            Dean squeezes Cas’s hand even tighter, returning the sentiment. When he succumbs to the night, Dean’s last sight is Cas’s face.

            He hopes it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Let me know - drop a kudos or a comment! Thanks!


End file.
